


Hallowed Eve

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It probably wasn't the smartest idea to let Sherlock choose the costumes for Halloween, but John never considered himself the smartest man in the room, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cheesy and ridiculous, but since that was the intent, I claim victory.

      “I suppose I can ask Mrs. Hudson…”

John absentmindedly set a cup of tea close to the edge of the kitchen table and Sherlock dragged a finger over to push the cup to safety.

      “If you are going to ask her about the proper care of tea cups, then I agree.”

      “What?  Oh, sorry… I was thinking about Halloween.  It’s coming up soon and I was just curious about what went on in the area.  I always loved Halloween, but there wasn’t much in the way of costumes and candy in Afghanistan.  We sometimes got a good horror film, though, and that made for bit of a nice film night.  Just thought it would be fun to get out and enjoy myself this year, if there was fun to be had, that is.”

      “I’m sure the streets will be littered with the usual crowd of hyperactive children grasping for yet more sugar to fuel their nonstop shrieking and overwrought dramatics, but you will be out with me, so we will both be spared that experience.”

      “Out with you?”

      “Try and keep up, John.  We have several parties to attend, so you should plan on your entire evening being occupied.”

John’s face assumed that particular configuration that spoke of an awareness of a headache looming in his very near future.

      “ ‘We?’  That’s a bit plural, isn’t it, Sherlock?  Seeing as how you actually haven’t asked me if I want to attend any parties on Halloween.”

      “Of course you do, John.  You haven’t been able to pass a shop window that is unfortunately festooned with eye-searing orange and black decorations without slowing down to look.  And, though you tried to hide it, extremely poorly I might add, you have watched that horrendous cartoon with the stupid boy sitting in the pumpkin patch at least three times in the past week.  Your attendance at any Halloween party to which you are invited is clearly assured.”

      “Hey!  There’s no cause to call Linus stupid, so shut it.  And I think the key word in your argument is ‘invited.’  I haven’t been invited to anything…”

      “I’ve been invited, John, so, by extension, you are invited.  Actually, your name _was_ mentioned in the negotiations so that should count as a separate invitation extended to you personally, if your ego needs the reassurance.”

      “ _My_ ego?  Oh… I could take on that challenge and make a merry old day of it, but I have to get to work.  And, I guess I have to find a costume – I assume these parties of yours are asking guests show up in costume?”

      “Taken care of.”

And the first twinge of John’s headache made its debut appearance.

      “Well that scares me.  I am in no way comfortable with you choosing a Halloween costume for me, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock’s surprise almost looked genuine, but John had been living in 221B long enough not to be fooled.

      “And why not?”

      “Do you have a pen and paper?  I can make you a list.  Or, I can take the shorter route of reminding you that you’re _you_ and leave it at that.”

      “I think I’m offended.”

      “I think you’re not.”

      “True, but if you can’t articulate a logical reason…”

      “One – your sense of social appropriateness is non-existent and I would rather not be seen about town wearing a loincloth and a Tarzan wig.  Two – your sense of humor would likely find me dressed as a zombie in a suit made of real body parts, not my own mind you, or in something ridiculous even by my own common standards that’d get me laughed off the street.  Three – your brain operates at a level so far above the rest of us mere mortals that I’d could easily arrive at your parties and have to spend the entire evening explaining  that I’m supposed to be some little-known 17th-century mathematician who discovered the equal sign or something.”

      “That was Robert Recorde and it was 16th-century.  In 1557 to be exact.”

      “And I could go on.”

      “Oh, but you did.  Seriously, John, do you truly not trust me to pick out a respectable, flattering costume for you?  Something you would enjoy wearing?  I’m wounded.”

With a deep, familiar sigh, John knelt down next to Sherlock’s seated form and made sure the detective was looking directly into his eyes.

      “I trust you with my life, Sherlock Holmes.  I trust you to stand with me in the face of Armaggedon, to be at my side against all the demons of Hell.  I do not, however, trust you as far as I can throw you to lift one finger to safeguard my dignity.  Now, I have to go or I’ll be late.”

John tried to rise, but Sherlock reached out and wrapped his hands around John’s wrists to hold him in place.

      “But how do you know that, John?  Have you ever asked me to do it?  Have you ever extracted a promise on this issue and found your trust betrayed?  I think you are making me the blackguard based on facts not in evidence.”

As soon as the protest rose, John felt it fall flat back down his throat.  The number of times his dignity had been trampled by the man in front of him was ridiculous, but it was true that he’d not specifically and seriously asked that his flatmate avoid making him look like a fool.  He had definitely protested during the aftermath, but John could not remember a single time when he had pushed Sherlock to promise not to make him wear a jester’s cap.   For any normal human being, obtaining a promise would not really be necessary, but, considering the person in question…

      “Fine, yes… you’re right.  Do you, Sherlock Holmes, world’s only consulting detective, hereby swear and promise that the Halloween costume you have selected for Dr. John Hamish Watson will in no way compromise his dignity, his masculinity or his sanity?”

      “I do swear.  Now, does this mean you’re going with me?”

      “Yeah, I’ll go.  I mean, you’ve never been interested in anything like parties before, so this could actually be fun.”

      “Excellent.  I look forward to it, also.”   

____________

      “Sherlock, what’s on your face?”

      “Skin.”

      “Simply hilarious.  Seriously, what is growing on your face?”

      “Might it be…hair.”

      “You’re growing a beard.  My brain doesn’t seem to be able to comprehend that right now, so I’ll tell you to go wash those crumbs off of your chin instead and remain comfortable in my self delusion.”

      “Whatever makes you happy, John.”

      “But, not that I believe it for one second, if you _are_ growing a beard, is there a reason why such beard is being grown?”

      “For my costume.”

The tiny smug smile on Sherlock’s face sparked a tremor of worry in John’s stomach that a lovely sip of tea did nothing to soothe. 

      “And may I know exactly what will be your costume?”

      “Let me think.  No.”

      “Not everyone likes surprises, Sherlock.   I happen to be a member of that ‘not everyone’ group.”

      “That is a lie.  I’ve gone through your wallet many times and have never found a membership card. “

      “Nosy git.  Give me a hint, at least.”

      “I don’t think so.  It is much more fun to watch you fret.”

      “Old ladies with scraggly cats fret.  I demonstrate due concern.”

      “Semantics.  You’ll find out soon enough, so put it out of your mind.  Now, weren’t you going to do the laundry?  Please, don’t let me keep you.”

      “Pompous nosy git.”

      “I value your conversation, John.”

__________

_It’s Halloween. – SH_

_Very well done.  What gave it away? – JW_

_Sarcasm is for little minds.  Come home. – SH_

_I’m here for another hour.  You know that. – JW_

_This is more important.  Come home. – SH_

_Work = money = rent and groceries.  Thank you Rob Recorde. – JW_

_Your costume is here. – SH_

_I’m leaving now. - JW_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all who have read, especially those who have commented!

John had spent the past few weeks straddling the line between anticipation and dread concerning the upcoming holiday, but held fast to his faith that Sherlock would honor his word and procure an appropriate Halloween costume.  Of course, he also believed that Sherlock would completely disavow any knowledge of a supposed promise and remind John to discuss his newfound auditory hallucinations with his therapist.  Unfortunately, paradoxical thinking was something with which John was becoming quite familiar.

However, John couldn’t have been more pleased with Sherlock’s choice.  Looking in the mirror, he didn’t see a tired, aging, ex-soldier anymore.  Instead, he saw a proud, strong naval officer fit to serve on any tall ship and make traitorous scallywags rot in the brig with nothing but hardtack once a day in addition to their mandatory ration of rum.  The garments were perfect replicas of uniforms John had seen in museums for officers from the mid to late 1700’s and everything, including the boots, fit to perfection.  John was actually a little worried that Sherlock had pilfered the uniform from some official collection, but the worry was a small one.  Not for the idea of theft, but for the fact that he looked bloody good and what’s a bit of larceny compared to that at his age.  And he hoped Mycroft’s surveillance team liked the sight of him shaking his arse at the mirror as much as he did.  Not one trace of his creeping civilian softness jiggling back at him.   He looked _bloody_ good.

A quick look at the clock and it was no surprise that they were already running late.

      “Sherlock!  Are you ready?  You said you wanted to leave at…”

…at…

…at…

_oh my_

John stared and hoped with his whole heart that his mouth wasn’t hanging open.  Sherlock stood in the doorway to his bedroom wearing a rakish smile, a devilish moustache and beard and the most perfect pirate costume John had ever seen.  The dark purplish-red coat hugging his slim frame contrasted sharply with the white linen shirt like Sherlock’s wild dark curls did with his smooth pale skin.  And, now there was a roguish scar decorating one cheek, complementing the neatly trimmed and shaped facial hair that John berated himself for ever mocking because there were men who would kill their kindly grandmothers for a look like that.  With a flourish, Sherlock placed a large and very authentic hat on his head and gave John a little bow.

      “I take it you approve.”

That was one way of saying it.

      “That’s…amazing.  Truly, Sherlock, you look… well, amazing.  Very nicely done, sir.”

They were rare, rare as perfect diamonds, so John couldn’t help but feel something stir deep inside him when Sherlock’s face lit up with an honestly pleased and happy smile.  John had never seen Sherlock show that smile to anyone.  Anyone except him.

      “It _is_ amazing, isn’t it?  I’ve been hoping for ages for a reason to wear this.  I acquired it when a film company went out of business and it has been in storage ever since.”

Sherlock’s smile changed slightly into one John hadn’t seen before.  One that could almost be called shy.

      “And, thank you, John, for agreeing to come with me tonight.  I’ve actually never been to a Halloween party.”

Although John wished he could be surprised at that admission, he couldn’t.  It was far too easy to believe that Sherlock Holmes had never attended a Halloween party.  Or a New Year’s Eve party.  Or a birthday party…

      “Well, you’re quite welcome.  And, thanks for my outfit.  I think I look rather smart, also.”

      “Without question.  There’s only one more thing we need and we’ll be off.  Now, close your eyes.”

      “That’s funny, I could have sworn I heard you ask me to close my eyes.  Silly that, I must need a check up.”

      “Not this again.  Really, John, you need to work through your trust issues.  Now, will you _please_ close your eyes?”

Sherlock was nearly bouncing foot to foot in anticipation of something and John knew this was a battle he couldn’t win and probably wasn’t worth fighting anyway.

      “Fine.  Eyes shut.  But if you stick my hand in bowl of eyeballs or something, I will not be responsible for my actions.”

      “You threw the last of the eyeballs away two days ago.  Now, just hold still…”

The sounds should have given it away.  It should not have taken until John felt metal circle his wrists to clue in to Sherlock’s little ‘one more thing.’

      “You’ve got to be kidding.”

      “I rarely kid.”

Surrounding both of John’s wrists was a set of shackles that were lighter than an authentic set should be, but were still strong enough to laugh at John’s slightly panicked efforts to reclaim ownership of his arms.

      “Sherlock, you promised…”

      “I promised that your costume would in no way humiliate you and I haven’t broken that promise.  I wouldn’t do that to you, John.”

      “Oh, and explain to me how wearing a pair of shackles isn’t humiliating.”

      “Whether or not it is humiliating is based on perspective, but that is not the issue at hand.  I promised that your costume would not cause you distress.  The restraints are part of _my_ costume, so are outside the bounds of our agreement.”

And with that, Sherlock plucked another length of chain from where it had been hiding behind a sofa cushion and affixed it to the chain linking John’s wrists.

      “No, Sherlock.  Absolutely not. I am not going out in public as your slave.”

      “Prisoner, John.  Not slave.  And I’m not a captain that believes in treating my prisoners cruelly.  See?  There is sufficient chain to allow your arms a wide range of motion and I did forego the leg irons so you can walk freely.   You wouldn’t find such humane treatment on every ship, you know.  Actually, you should be thanking me.”

      “Thanking you?  Thanking you for trussing me up like a convict!”

      “Don’t be silly, John.  You’ve not been convicted of anything.  That requires a trial and on this ship the only law is my will.  And it was your own fault that you were captured.   Apparently, Royal Navy training isn’t as rigorous as it used to be.  Bad news for you, but delightful for me.”

John wasn’t sure if he should wait for the stroke to kill him or if he should just strangle himself with his new jewelry.

      “Can’t we just agree that I’m your prisoner and we leave the chains here…”

      “Of course not!  How will people know that I’m a successful and fierce pirate captain if I don’t have something to prove it?  I’m not going to carry around a chest of jewels.  That would be crass.  And cumbersome.”

One deep, cleansing breath and then another.  Realizing that this was doing nothing but running air through his lungs, John rubbed his face a moment and tried to think of something that would break through Sherlock’s steel-hard skull and get him out of these chains.  He did have to admit, though, that his arms could move around quite easily, so eating and drinking wouldn’t be a problem.  And, Sherlock had honestly put a great deal of thought and planning into their costumes.  _Their_ costumes… he wondered if the detective had a clue about the social implications of themed costumes.  Or of dragging a person around in public by a lead.

Two schools of thought were warring in John’s head.  The first was that Sherlock was completely aware of how he and John would be perceived when they left the flat and was using his internal stopwatch to time how long it would take for John to explode.  Then, he could wear his victorious indignation like another plume in his hat and be insufferable all night.  The second scenario was that Sherlock was completely ignorant of why John would be upset at their situation since, at the most unexpected times, Sherlock Holmes could be a 5-year old.  Sometimes John felt as if he was actually raising a child when he dealt with his friend and there was a hint of something in Sherlock’s eyes that said that if John did explode right now, he would wind up feeling as if he’d kicked a puppy.

So, if he lost his temper now there were two possible outcomes.  First – Sherlock would win and John would seethe all night for falling into his flatmate’s trap.  Second – Sherlock would be hurt that John didn’t like his idea and John would feel like a heel.   It was a lose-lose situation, as it so often was with Sherlock Holmes, but since John had no expectations of hooking up with anyone at any of these parties, the repercussions of their night should be minimal.  Likely, they’d be attending a gathering of Sherlock’s school chums or an event sponsored in some way by Mycroft, so… so let Sherlock have his way this time and just enjoy being out, in costume, on Halloween.  Win-win is always the best way to go…

      “Ok, but here’s the rules.  Number 1 – I have free reign to visit the loo on my own.  Number 2 – I may be your prisoner, but there’s no call to be rude about it, so keep a civil tongue in your head.  Number 3 – Don’t expect me to wait on you or call you Captain.”

      “But, I _am_ a pirate Captain and I should be addressed as such.”

The stroke… the stroke was looking like it might end the night early for John and he couldn’t be upset about that.

      “I’ll make you a deal.  I’ll call you Captain, but you have to call me Mister Watson.”

      “Prisoners don’t receive honorifics.”

      “Take it or leave it, Sherlock.  It’s non-negotiable.”

Pressed lips and narrowed eyes.  Neither was going to make John change his mind.  His immunity was too high for that.

      “I agree to your terms, sir.  I may be strict, but I also have compassion.  That is what makes me great.”

It was going to be a long night.

__________

There was really no possibility that they were going to make it to the front door without Mrs. Hudson intercepting their escape, so John was prepared when the landlady blocked their exit and made him and Sherlock show off their holiday garb.

      “Oh my!  Look at the two of you.  You look ever so nice.  Just like proper men of the sea.  I did think Sherlock would be the one wearing the chains, though.  Now, let me get some pictures.  Mrs. Turner will be so impressed.”

Mrs. Hudson darted into her flat to get her camera, while Sherlock bent down to whisper in John’s ear.

      “Why would she expect me to be the one wearing the shackles?”

      “You’re the pirate, you prat.”

The ‘and you really should never be taken into public without a muzzle and a leash’ went unsaid.

      “But, I’m a successful pirate.”

      “Well, Mrs. Hudson is a traditionalist.  The British rule the sea and all that.”

      “I suppose.  Just to be sure, you’ll need to walk a pace or so behind me at all times.”

      “You mean like always.”

      “There’s no need to be snippy, John.”

A long round of posing, with John trying to conceal his chains and Sherlock striving to make them glaringly obvious, garnered Mrs. Hudson a set of pictures that even John had to admit made the two men look very dashing.

      “And where are you off to tonight, boys?  Somewhere fun?”

      “Actually Sherlock’s been a bit tight-mouthed about the evening, Mrs. Hudson.  I’m beginning to worry that I’m headed to a Holmes family gathering where I’ll be the requisite human sacrifice.”

      “Nonsense, John.  My family requires virgin sacrifices and you are woefully unsuited for that purpose.  Now, shall we go?”

John didn’t linger on the “woefully” part of that statement and didn’t miss the mischievous grin that Mrs. Hudson shot him as Sherlock dragged him out the door and down the steps.   He was pretty sure she’d changed her mind on who should be the one wearing the chains in their relationship.

__________

Ignoring the ‘mummy…daddy, why is that man wearing those bracelets?’ while waiting for a cab was rather difficult since Sherlock took pains every time to explain to the confused children his status as a proficient pirate and John’s failure as a naval officer to evade capture.  To his credit, the trick-or-treaters found his story very exciting and John had to admit to a twinge of pride watching Sherlock mesmerize the costumed revelers with a spirited theatrical performance, complete with a skilled brandishing of his sword as he described their vicious battle.  For his part, John was credited with leading Sherlock on a spectacularly thrilling chase around the deck and a very impassioned speech as he pleaded with his enemy to spare his life, which the children listened to with widened eyes and anxious glances in John’s direction.  All in all, things could have been much worse and Sherlock’s antics certainly kept the parents from yanking their offspring away from the likely pair of roaming sex offenders and calling the police.

      “So, where are we off to, first?”

      “To discharge an obligation to Mycroft.  He’s been after me for years to attend one of his ridiculous ‘work’ functions and certain circumstances this year have made it difficult to refuse.”

      “You wound up owing him a favor and he’s collecting.”

      “In summary, yes.”

      “I would have thought that Mycroft wouldn’t have you within ten miles of any of his friends.”

      “Mycroft has fewer friends than I do and since I have only one, you see the breadth of his popularity.  However, he does work with a number of individuals who are aware that he contracts my services from time to time.  Those individuals are more than a little keen to meet me and see which, if any, of the stories they have heard are true and decide whether Mycroft is clinically insane for involving me in government business.”

      “Well, fair enough, I guess.”

      “Yes, quite.  I am hoping this will be a brief stop, but do try and be on your best behavior.”

      “So long as you don’t add to our ashtray collection.”

      “I make no promises.  After all – pirate.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my thanks to those taking the time to read this and the kind words folks have left...

**Party 1**

      “I’m poorer than these people’s dogs.”

      “That’s probably true, so aren’t you glad prisoners don’t need money?  Now, let’s find Mycroft and prove that we’ve made an appearance.”

      “Well, if I don’t need money then _you_ get me a drink.  A big one.  My inferiority complex is getting an inferiority complex.”

Seeing celebrities and political leaders on the telly and in the newspaper had done nothing to prepare John for seeing them assembled in person and _en masse_.  He had a sudden and painful awareness of the level of his bank account, his class standing and state of relationship bankruptcy.  At least no one would mistake him for the help.  The help didn’t have to wear chains.

      “All they will see, if they can break away from their own self-absorption to notice, is a pleasant-looking man in an exquisite costume, so stop worrying.”

A waiter came close enough for Sherlock to grab a glass of champagne from the man’s tray and handed it to John.

      “I wasn’t worrying.”

      “Why do you even try to lie, John?”

      “Practice.”

      “Hmmm…you could definitely use it.”

      “And that’s Mister Watson to you.”

      “And the gauntlet hits the floor with a thunderous slap.”

      “I didn’t notice any gauntlets on our Doctor Watson, dear brother; however, I must say he does cut a fine figure as a prisoner of your imagination.”

Both men turned to find Louis XIV standing next to them with a wry smile and Mycroft’s nose.

      “Playing for the French, Mycroft?  I would think that earn you some time in the Tower.  Or at least get your cake ration cut to the bone.”

      “Ah, but it’s the irony of the situation, isn’t it Sherlock?  One would say strolling in with one of Her Majesty’s officers in custody would earn you a spot of trouble, as well.  But that _is_ what makes your heart flutter, isn’t it?”

John wasn’t sure why Mycroft looked at _him_ for that last bit.  Maybe he was looking for an ally.

      “Now, why don’t you go and find Doctor, excuse me, _Mister_ Watson a real drink.  The champagne they are serving this evening is positively horrid.”

      “I refuse to leave John alone with these vultures.”

      “But he won’t be alone, will he?  And I gladly promise to safeguard his person from the carrion eaters and their hangers-on.  He is _your_ prisoner, after all.”

Mycroft only chuckled at his brother’s glare and held out his hand to take possession of John’s chain.

      “John…”

      “I’ll be fine, Captain.  In fact, a little whisky would hit the spot right about now.”

Preening a bit at the use of his official title, Sherlock graced John with a satisfied smirk and tried to set Mycroft on fire once more with the power of his laser eyes before stalking off to find the bar.

      “You do indulge my brother shamefully, Doctor Watson.”

      “Oh, it’s all in fun and he did go to a lot of trouble.”

      “He did, didn’t he?  He went to a great deal of trouble.  What an interesting thing to do, owing to his complete disinterest in any holiday, let alone the _celebration_ of any holiday.  Yet he throws himself wholeheartedly into the most frivolous and garish one of the year.  I wonder what spurred such a decision?  Thoughts?”

John knew every word Mycroft said had at least ten layers of meaning, innuendo and motive, but this was Halloween, time to have a bit of fun and getting tangled up in Mycroft’s web of words wasn’t in the cards.  Whether Sherlock was playing an elaborate game or conducting one of his social experiments wasn’t John’s problem.  He was out on Halloween night and determined to enjoy every minute of it.

      “Not a one.  Not a single, solitary one.”

      “He’s right, you really shouldn’t try to lie, doctor.  But I do want to thank you for escorting Sherlock this evening and agreeing to his whims.  He has never outgrown his desire to be a pirate, rattling his sword at authority and flying his flag for all to see and know his colors.  It’s good for him get this chance.”

Nothing short of an act of nature could keep the vision of a tiny Sherlock racing around wearing a pirate hat and carrying a cardboard sword out of John’s head.  He had to wonder if Mycroft had any photos stored away or perhaps some grainy home movies.

      “He must have been a handful.  I mean, he’s _Sherlock_ and if he went through a pirate phase…”

      “He would make his toys walk the plank out of his bedroom window.  The carnage in the shrubbery below was ghastly.”

John tried to stifle his giggle, but didn’t bemoan his failure when he saw Mycroft’s barely concealed grin.

      “At least his toys didn’t have to get bound to him and dragged around the nursery.”

      “Strange you should mention that.  He did steal my school ties to fashion his own brand of restraints for those playthings not slated for death and they would follow after him wherever he went.  At least until I reclaimed my ties.”

      “I guess I’m one of the lucky toys, then.”

      “A very lucky toy, since none of the other ones ever made it out of the house, let alone got their own costume.  Or survived Sherlock’s games for more than a few weeks.”

      “I’ll be sure to express my gratitude to the illustrious Captain.”

      “Did I hear my name, by any chance?”

Sherlock’s hands were each provided with a crystal glass, one of which got passed to John who let out a massive sigh after his first sip.

      “I don’t want to know how much this costs per bottle, do I?”

      “I’ll make sure you get one for Christmas.  Now, if you two will excuse me, I have to return to my mingling.  Sherlock, I expect to see you circulating around the room.  There are a number of people who are simply dying to meet you and Doctor Watson.  Do try and play nice, brother and don’t embarrass me or yourself.”

      “Yeah, cause I’m already a lost cause.”

John raised his bound hands and toasted Mycroft, taking another sip of his whisky.

      “There’s nothing embarrassing about making someone happy, doctor.  If I don’t see you before you leave, enjoy your evening.”

With a little nod and the return of John’s lead to Sherlock’s grasping hand, Mycroft left the two men alone.

      “You’re doing it again, Sherlock.”

      “I’m not doing anything.”

      “You’re trying to read my mind and uncover what Mycroft and I were talking about.  You could just ask, you know.”

      “No fun.”

      “There’s that, I suppose.  Well, ready to sparkle?  We’ve got our drinks and… what’s that you’ve got anyway?”

      “I’m a pirate, Mister Watson.  We do fancy our rum.”

__________

John and Sherlock meandered around the party and, as Mycroft had indicated, Sherlock’s presence was in high demand.  John felt quite fortunate that most of the attendees were content to ignore him completely in favor of monopolizing the Captain, who, surprisingly wasn’t reacting poorly to the situation.  When called upon, Sherlock’s acting talents came in handy and they were being exercised in full as he charmed the various men and women who stopped them during their circuit of the room.  Actually, Sherlock seemed to be having a good time in his role as a dread pirate and more than a few eyes roamed up and down his body with an appreciative once over.  John attributed the bit of fire that rose up in his belly watching those interactions to the fact that his system wasn’t used to sipping whiskey that was meant for gods and not mortal men.

      “You look as bored as me and I didn’t think that was possible.”

The voice came from a tall blond man to John’s left wearing a vintage tuxedo and slicked back hair who was nursing his own glass of amber liquid.

      “Bored’s not quite the right word; more like a little overwhelmed.  Too many people, too few things I know enough to talk about.”

      “Well, we’re even more alike than I thought.  I always find these parties lacking in genuine amusement.  Everyone still seems to have one foot at work and won’t really relax and enjoy themselves.  Who wants to talk about international finance when there is that dreadful call from last night’s match to dissect?”

      “You saw that?  Dreadful doesn’t cover it.  I’m not sure it was anything less than Satan having a bit of a laugh at our expense.  I lost a fiver because of that.”

      “My sympathies.  Is that the reason for the…”

The man waved his hand at John’s shackles.

      “Boyfriend put you in debtor’s prison?”

Always with the boyfriend comments.  Didn’t people believe in being friends anymore?

      “He’s not my boyfriend, we’re just out enjoying the evening.”

      “Well, isn’t that lucky for me.”

The man gave John a slightly predatory smile that in no way was responsible for the slight bit of perspiration that broke out on John’s brow.

      “Sorry mate, but I’m not looking for anything…”

      “Good, neither am I.  Well, not anything beyond tomorrow morning that is.  What say you bid farewell to your not-boyfriend and you and I take this conversation somewhere a little more private.  And, by all means, bring along your chains.  They’ll certainly come in handy.”

      “Now look here, I am not ditching my friend…”

      “Alright, that’s not a problem.  He can come along.  Does he prefer to watch or do you like him to get involved?  We’re all adults here, you can tell me.  The more I know, the more fun we can have.”

John was fairly certain the choking sensation he was experiencing was due to a swallowed tongue and sincerely hoped that the man in front of him wasn’t the one who would have to go fishing for it.  It was more than a slight relief when he felt his arms jerk as Sherlock pulled tightly on his lead to bring him by his side.

      “John is not available to have sex with you, so you should look elsewhere for a partner.  Try the older man near the window dressed like a sheik.  His eyes didn’t leave my crotch the entire time we were talking.  Come on, John, we’ve served our sentence.  Time to move on.”

      “Yeah, ok… well, nice too meet you.  Good luck getting laid.”

Sherlock tugged John towards the door and it was at the last moment that John caught Mycroft watching them leave.  Watching them with visible twinkle in his eye.

__________

      “The man was a creep, Sherlock, but you didn’t have to drag me out by my hair.”

      “I dragged you out by your chains, John.  Weren’t you paying attention?”

      “What a funny man you are.  Seriously, I was a soldier if you remember.  Even with your _accessories_ , I can take care of myself.”

      “You’re my prisoner tonight, Mister Watson, so your welfare is my responsibility.  I’ll not let your virtue be compromised while under my care.”

      “How much of that rum did you have?”

      “Not enough to diminish my sense of honor.  Any untoward advances against your person will be dealt with by my steel.”

      “Let me smell your breath.”

      “Fear not, Mister Watson.  You may be my prisoner, but I will not permit anyone to do you ill.”

      “I’m not kidding, Sherlock.”

      “It is very hard to stay in character with your spoil-sportery sullying my waters.”

      “In character?  I haven’t heard one ‘matey’ or ‘arrrggghhh’ yet.”

      “That vocabulary is to be expected for a common pirate.  I am a Captain, if you recall.”

      “So you’re a posh pirate, then?”

      “That’s somewhat of an oversimplification, but it will do.”

      “I bet that with enough rum I could get you to buy a parrot.”

      “I don’t need a parrot, Mister Watson.  I already live with something short that squawks.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Party 2**

The cabs in this part of London were a bit more discriminating than those around Baker Street and finding one that would take a pirate and his captive proved to be a challenge.  It probably didn’t help that Sherlock insisted on trying to flag them down with his sword.   Finally, one cabbie took the chance and John was very happy to get off his feet and away from the sets of eyes that crawled over him and Sherlock like they were wearing ‘For Sale’ signs around their necks.  For once, John was glad he didn’t run with the rich and famous crowd – he’d never actually worried more about lowering his guard and getting molested than he had in the past hour of his life.  I did make him wonder if that was why Mycroft always maintained his iron control as if his life depended on it.  He wasn’t a bad looking bloke, after all.

      “You can relax now, John.”

      “I’m relaxed.  How could I not be relaxed with Captain Holmes protecting my manhood.”

Sherlock truly did puff up like a partridge when John called him Captain.  

      “I’m glad we’ve got that settled.  Now, on to our next destination.”

      “I missed you giving the cabbie the address.  Where are we going?”

      “A restaurant.  A few people we know are getting together for the evening.”

      “A few people we know?  We don’t know many people in common besides Mycroft and the lads on the force… no.  Oh no, Sherlock.  That’s not an option.”

      “I’m sorry, Mister Watson, but it is most certainly an option.  We were invited to join Lestrade and his team for a little holiday revelry and I took it upon myself to respond for both of us.  They’ll be expecting us, so I’m sure you won’t want to disappoint them.”

      “They’ll live, but I’m not sure if I will if we show up.  Let me out.”

      “You still seem to lack situational awareness about our evening, Mister Watson.  Since I am not jumping ship, you are not either.  Do try and remember your place.  Besides, on what have we agreed?  Just moments ago?”

      “That you’re a right tosser and …”

      “THAT your care and safety are secure in my hands.”

      “I’m not likely to be raped by a roomful of the Yard’s finest, _Captain_.  But I am likely to get laughed out the place.”

      “First, Anderson will be there, so you need to find a better term to describe the participants than ‘finest’.  Second, I don’t see why you wouldn’t stand the same chance of being accosted as anywhere else.  You’re appearance attracts attention, both of men and women, so given a crowd of sufficient size the probability of there being one or more in attendance that would aggressively pursue you is quite high.”

      “You could just say I’m sex on two legs.”

      “That doesn’t sound like something I’m likely to say.”

      “Yeah, fair enough.”

      “Is that something you want me to say?”

      “What?  No!  I mean, it’s not something one friend says to another.  It was just a joke.”

      “But if it’s true, why would it matter how the statement was phrased?  If you prefer one to another…”

      “If it _was_ true, which it is not, how you say it is incredibly important.  One is a neutral observation, the other has…insinuations.”

      “That’s a substantial word.  You’re not given to those without proper preparation.”

      “Thanks for that.”

      “What I meant was that you’ve thought about this before.”

      “I don’t think about me being sexy, Sherlock.”

      “You obviously do or you wouldn’t use a word like ‘insinuation’ when something simpler and more boring would suffice.  And why wouldn’t you think about your own appearance?  You spend enough time worrying about it before one of you futile dates.”

      “I spend an appropriate amount of time preparing for my dates and they wouldn’t be futile if someone I know, master of the cutlass and all that, wasn’t on a mission to make sure they failed.”

      “I assure you that is not the case.  You scuttle your relationships quite well without any help from me.”

      “When do I have the time to do my own self-scuttling, when I’m busy answering texts, chasing after you for a last-minute development on a case…”

      “None of which you _have_ to do, Mister Watson.  All of which, however, you _choose_ to do.”

John felt a flush on his cheeks that had nothing to do with Mycroft’s thousand-pound whisky.  But no Watson ever went down without a fight.

      “Well… you just called me sexy, so there.”

      “I most certainly did not.”

      “Yeah, you did.  You said ‘but if it’s true,’ meaning you believe it _is_ true.  Is it difficult sitting there next to the heat of my sexiness?”

      “Temperature is not a property of physical attractiveness.”

      “But you agree I’d have a lot of temperature since you’re warm for my form.  See how I got two heat references in there.  I’m on fire…Hah!  Three.”

      “My perception of your appearance is not germane to our discussion, since I will be defending your reputation, not preparing to attack it.”

      “Not germane – is that the same as ‘Oh John, how you see through me like I was a pane of glass’?”

      “Not germane in that your appearance will be relevant only to those outside the two of us.”

      “So we have a new agreement.  I’m a sexy beast.”

      “And since, as you say, ‘sexy beasts’ do not tend to be laughed out of restaurants, your last argument for not attending our next party is rendered moot.”

      “Now wait a minute…”

      “Oh look, we’re here.  I’ll pay the driver, Mister Watson.  I know you lack sufficient funds.”

__________

      “Are you telling me that whole whirligig of nonsense was to keep me in the cab?”

      “Do you want it to have another meaning?”

One day John’s fingers were going to break from the force of clenching his fists.

      “Yes.  No.  I don’t know.”

      “If you settle on an answer, let me know if you feel it will be of use in our further conversations.  For now,  can we focus our attention on the task at hand.  We are here to enjoy ourselves.  Concentrate on your enjoyment, John.”

      “That’s actually filthy if you think about it the right way.”

      “Whatever makes your Halloween more pleasurable, Mister Watson.”

      “Looks like I’m not the only one on fire, Captain Holmes.

Even with Sherlock’s tiny amused smile, John was still not comfortable with the idea of socializing with members of the Yard.  He knew there were already rumors circulating about him and Sherlock and this was going to make those rumors look far more valid.  But…Sherlock was right about one thing.  Tonight was a night to just think about having fun.  At worse, he would have to endure a few cases ignoring the whispers or knowing looks until people got bored because they got no response from their targets.  That was a small enough price to pay for being out with a surprisingly amiable flatmate.

The restaurant didn’t seem to have a specialty but was large and bright, with plenty of room for the noisy party it was hosting.  If the party hadn’t been for members of the police force, it would probably have already been shut down, not only for noise, but for the state of undress of a number of the party-goers.  Fortunately, the nearly naked were young and low in the departmental hierarchy, so incriminating videos wouldn’t result in significant demotion.  For some, it might actually help their chances for advancement.

      “Oh.My.God.  I didn’t think you’d come out tonight, Freak.  This is a religious holiday for you, isn’t it?”

Sally Donovan dressing up like a whore was a bit redundant, in John’s opinion.

      “ Thank you for your warm welcome, Donovan.  If this _was_ a religious holiday for Sherlock, I’d have to report you for harassment and religious intolerance, so aren’t you glad I’m in good spirits tonight or we’d be adding your badge to the Captain’s treasure chest.”

Watching a tarted-up Sally Donovan swallow her sneer and storm away was an image worth a few doubloons, at least.  Maybe even a pearl or two.  John looked up at Sherlock and grinned at the gleam in the pirate’s eyes.

      “You are fine example of an officer, Mister Watson.  Decent and honorable to the core.”

      “I accept your praise, Captain.  Even though it comes from a dastardly pirate such as yourself.”

One day, John would find a way to masculinize his giggle, but as long as it mixed with Sherlock’s, he didn’t mind the sound nearly as much.  And they kept giggling, catching sight of the approaching Lestrade, adorned in a battered fedora and trench coat.

      “Alright you two.  What happened with Donovan.  She looks like she’s been sucking on a lemon.”

      “So that’s what Anderson calls his penis.”

Sherlock’s confusion only made John and Greg laugh harder.

      “Do men actually name their genitals?”

      “Not men you want to know, Captain.  And you, Lestrade.  Poor man’s Sam Spade?”

      “Hey!  Sam Spade _was_ a poor man, so you show some respect.  Who are you supposed to be?”

Sherlock dragged John to stand directly in front of him and held up his arms so the shackles were clearly visible.

      “I am Captain Holmes, scourge of the seven seas and this is my prisoner, Mister Watson, formerly of the British Navy.

Sherlock probably didn’t understand the look on Lestrade’s face, but John did and it meant all sorts of fun things best not dwelt upon too long.

      “Well, it’s always nice when people team up for costumes.  Much more _meaningful_ that way.”

      “That was my position, but John didn’t really follow my thinking.  Not at all unusual, but bothersome nonetheless.”

      “Standing right here and still not your insult sponge.  How about you liberate some drinks from the oppression of civilization and I’ll keep the private dick company.”

      “Are we discussing naming phalluses again?”

      “Move along, scurvy dog.”

Sherlock hesitated before handing Lestrade John’s chain and pressing his way through the crowd.

      “So, _Mister_ Watson, care to add anything to your captor’s story?”

      “Don’t start, Greg.  He worked hard on this and I couldn’t disappoint him.  You know Sherlock, he probably has no idea what signals this is sending and I’ve got a thick skin.”

      “Yeah, he’s a clueless bastard for a lot of things.  But not for everything.  He might have more of an idea of what he’s doing that you know.  Gotta say, looks good in the beard, though.  Always thought he had a little of the devil in him.”

      “I won’t argue that.”

      “But you know I gotta ask, John.  You and Sherlock… I know there’s a lot of crap being spread around about you two and I don’t listen to it but… well, you know…”

      “I can’t believe you.  Really, Greg?”

      “I’m trained to look at things a certain way, John, and what I see tells me a pretty specific story.  No offense, mate, but my ex didn’t treat me the way you do that big tit, even when things were good.  Yeah, you can talk about being besties and all that, but… there’s nothing wrong with it, you know.  Right?  No one would think any less of you.  Well, ok, some stupid buggers would, but they aren’t worth the spit on the sidewalk anyway.”

      “Greg, listen to me and pay close attention.  There’s nothing going on between Sherlock and me.  Nothing at all.  That’s just not who we are.  I may not be sure exactly what our relationship is, but Sherlock’s not looking to put a ring on my finger.”

      “No, just some iron on your wrists.”

      “Prick.”

      “Ok…I’ll leave off.  Your private life isn’t my business anyway.  However… if things change, maybe in the next week, let’s say… lemme know, will you?  I’ve got first week of November in the pool and I could really use the cash.”

      “Pool?  There’s a betting pool on when Sherlock and I…”

      “Sherlock and I what?  I really don’t like it when you talk about me and I’m not here, John.  Without my help, you are not often as clear a communicator as you like to think.”

      “I missed you too, eyepatch.  Just telling Greg about Mycroft’s little get-together.  Next year, we’ll have to drag the Detective Inspector along.  I think he’d find it very entertaining.”

      “Doubtful.  But it might provide him with an opportunity for sex, which he would appreciate if his current celibate state continues for that long.  Remind me, John, when the time comes.”

One glass got passed to John, who mourned the fact that even a decent whisky was just going to be a ghost of Halloween past from now on.

      “Shut it, you.  I’m just taking a break.  Reassessing… considering my options.  Damn, now I need a drink.  Don’t cause trouble, _Captain_.  The room’s filled with drunk cops, some of whom already want to take a swing at you.  Mister Watson, good luck.  I think you’re gonna need it.”

Lestrade tossed John’s chain to Sherlock and tipped his hat to the pair before leaving to seek out his own liquid entertainment.

      “More rum, sir?”

      “Of course.  Actually, I’m starting to develop a taste for it.  I will have to experiment to find out which specific type offers the best flavor relative to degree of relaxation.   Leave time in your normal shopping schedule to procure an assortment of brands.  I’ll make a tentative list, but I trust you to use your judgment to make additions as you see fit.”

      “Hurrah – an experiment I can actually support.  Well come on… we have to do the rounds and we best do it while the majority of the crowd is still vertical.”

An hour and several drinks later, John invoked Rule #1 and left Sherlock in Lestrade’s care while he made a trip to the loo.  A moment after he finished up, a young man entered and glanced at John shyly.

      “Doctor Watson?  Hi… I don’t know if you remember me…”

Gerry?  Ronald?  Thomas?

      “It’s Benjamin.  PC Benjamin Ross.  We’ve chatted at a few crime scenes.”

Benjamin!  Nice young kid.  Has a sister in medical school and chatted with John about her experiences while Sherlock held court.

      “Of course, PC Ross.  How are you?  Nice costume.   Chimney sweep – very well done.”

The pink on the PC’s cheeks was rather adorable and John was just drunk enough to admit it.  At least to himself.

      “Thanks, sir.  Yours too!  It looks very professional.  Everyone’s talking about it and Mr. Holmes’s, too.”

John was sure they were.  Very, very sure they were.

      “That’s sort of why… well, I just wanted to say that I’m really glad about you and Mr. Holmes.  I mean, it’s always been obvious that you two were a great match, but it’s nice to see you being open about it now.”

John thought his imminent stroke had taken a vacation, but apparently it had just been taking a nap and was starting to wake up.

      “Look, son.  I don’t want you to get the wrong idea…”

      “Oh don’t worry – I’m not trying to hit on you.  I’d never do that to someone who was already taken!  I just wanted to… just wanted to say I was proud… proud to see you two come out and make things official.  Not everyone would be that brave, especially in this job.”

John was prepared, after yet another long-suffering sigh to set the record straight with the young man, but let the lecture die unspoken.  The boy’s shoulders were hunched and although he was wearing a brave smile, there was a lot of pain behind it.  The boy had a story and it was one that John had heard too often for his peace of mind.

      “Look, Benjamin.  Me and Sherlock don’t matter.  What’s important is that you understand that you’ve got people on your side and you shouldn’t be afraid to be who are.  Yeah, you’ll meet up with some right bastards, but they’re dying out and none of them would stand up to a good lawyer if push came to shove.  And there are plenty of people on the force who’ll have your back, too.  Lestrade for one – you have a problem with anyone, stop by and see him and he’ll take care of it nice and quietly.  Now, did you bring your boyfriend along with you tonight?  I’d love an introduction.”

The young officer stared at John for a long moment before letting a real smile erupt on his face.

      “No… we decided it was best I come alone.  I’d have been happy to introduce you, though.  I’ve told him all about you and Mr. Holmes and he’d love to meet both of you.”

And, John thought, if that meeting was postponed indefinitely, everyone would be the better for it.  A healthy dose of Sherlock wouldn’t be the best tonic for a nice young couple. 

      “I’m sure we’ll get the chance sometime.  Look here though… give him a call and tell him to come out and celebrate.  That’s what tonight’s for, yeah?  Now, I’m going to find Sherlock before he…

      “John!  Is your virtue intact?”

      “…bursts in here to embarrass me.”

Sherlock fixed PC Ross with a glare and laid his hand on the pommel of his sword.

      “Are you accosting Mister Watson?  If so, you will have me to deal with and that is not something you wish to take lightly.”

John had to admit to a spot of pride in the baby policeman, who simply grinned at Sherlock and held up his hands in a placating manner.

      “I wouldn’t dare, sir.  I’m not one to mess with another man’s spoils of war.  Thank you though, Doctor Watson.  I think… I think I’ll take your advice.  I think William will have a nice time… _we’ll_ have a nice time.”

PC Ross hugged the wall and slithered past Sherlock out of the door and back to the party.

      “You should be more cautious Mister Watson.  His interest was at least 15% carnal and that is not an acceptable value.”

      “Calm down Errol Flynn.  Lad just wanted some relationship advice.”

      “Nonsense.  He was obviously gay and therefore would not need any advice concerning women.”

      “Well, maybe he thinks I’m a bit more worldly than you do and can offer advice in a lot of areas.”

      “John, your obsessive insistence on proclaiming your heterosexuality makes you a very unlikely expert on homosexual relationships.”

      “Come on, Sherlock – even you must have picked up on the fact that no matter what I say about myself, people assume what they want to.  Especially about you and me.”

      “Are you referring to the betting pool about when you and I have intercourse?  Bored minds reach for any form of diversion, even when the minds in question are simple and difficult to bore.”

      “You know about the pool?  Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “Why?  Did you want to place a wager?”

      “Out.  Out right now before people think we’re in here winning it for whoever bet on this week.”

      “That would be Charlotte, one of the evidence clerks.”

      “Oh god…”

__________

       “And what in the world happened to your shirt?”

Back in the better light of the restaurant, John got a look at a great deal more of Sherlock’s skin that was visible before he left to take care of business.

      “The young woman to your right dressed as vampire took your absence as an invitation to… board my ship, as it were.”

      “She tried to pull you, huh?  Well, she does fill out that dress nicely.  What little there is of it.”

      “It was not a pleasant experience, John, and I’d not have you make light of my distress.”

      “Distress or undress?  Honestly, I let you out of my sight for 5 minutes… and you think my virtue is the one at risk.  Don’t forgot, Sherlock, you’re the one the term “gorgeous” gets applied to, not me.”

John dropped his lead into Sherlock’s hand and began to re-tie his shirt and neaten up his coat.

      “Really?”

      “Oh yeah.  Well, at least until you turn your tongue on whoever’s ogling you, then other words get bandied about.  But, on first sight... not hard to admit that you’re easy on the eyes.   For a bloke, that is.”

John finished straightening Sherlock’s costume and caught PC Ross watching them with his phone pressed against his ear and another big grin splashed across his youthful face.

      “Flattery will not earn you additional privileges, Mister Watson.”

      “I’m more than happy with my level of privileges, Captain Holmes, as long as the liquor keeps flowing.  Ready to go?”

      “Yes.  We’re expected elsewhere and this party seems to have reached the stage where heartfelt confessions and furtive gropings are going to increase exponentially.  I would be much happier if we were somewhere other than here.”

      “You’ve got the helm, sir.”

      “I’m glad you’re accepting your fate, Mister Watson.”

      “Don’t make me choke you, Sherlock.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again, my sincere gratitude for all those who have left Kudos and commented. It means a lot...

**Party 3**

      “I daresay I have enough blackmail information tonight to ensure that any piddling difficulties we run into during our work will be quickly and quietly smoothed over.  It’s most fortunate that a party atmosphere lowers inhibitions to the point where even the most intimate details of a person’s life are gladly revealed in the spirit of camaraderie.  Ridiculous, but useful.”

      “People are social creatures, alcohol makes them more so.  You’re even thawing a bit Davy Jones.  That woman who went after you… normally she would have been a weeping puddle on the floor after you got through with her, but she looked like she came through with her faculties intact.  That’s awful mellow for you, mate.”

      “I weighed the degree of your disapproval for a disruption of the party with my natural desire to lay bare the woman’s masochistic need to attach herself to emotionally unavailable men and decided the former was of greater importance.”

      “Thanks for that.  Nice to know you think about my blood pressure once in awhile.”

      “I always think about you, Mister Watson.  Sometimes other events and actions are more urgent and I have to make choices that you don’t appreciate, but that can’t get in the way of the work.  Besides, you always forgive me.”

      “Not always… well, at least not right away.  I can hold a grudge, you know.  Won prizes in school.  Anyway, how _did_ you pry the parasite off of you?”

      “I told her I’d just ordered you into the bathroom to remove your pants and purchase some condoms.   Her interest waned fairly rapidly after that.”

      “See!  Just a little of ye olde rum and you become a comedian.  Well done, though.  I hate clingy birds.”

      “Worried about your place, Jim Hawkins?”

      “Ooh… good one.  And no.  There’s not another person on land or sea daft enough to put up with your antics.”

      “That’s why I only bought one set of shackles.”

__________

      “How many more of these things do you have lined up?”

      “One more.  Are you getting tired?”

      “Nope.  Just looking to pace myself.  No use getting completely pissed at the next soiree if we’re hitting a few more after that.”

      “That’s surprisingly logical for you, John.”

      “The right dodgy Captain Holmes… fells his enemies with backhanded compliments and withering stares.  No wonder you rule the sea lanes.”

      “You forgot my mighty cannon.”

      “Oh, there’ll be no forgetting that.  I bet it’s got a name and everything.”

      “No need.  They don’t call it a Long Nine for nothing.”

__________

John spent the cab ride blissfully oblivious to where they were going and what was going on around them.  He was right at that perfect state of inebriation where the world seems set to do lovely things for all the good little drunks and he was the best of them all.  And with his partner in crime…oops!... his harsh and tyrannical captor… sharing his condition, it was very hard to John to even think about an evening he’d enjoyed so much in a very, very long time.  By the time the cab came to a stop, he was sure this was sure this was one of those nights you know you’ll always remember.  Especially when someone yanks you out of a cab by your chains and you nearly face plant on the curb.

      “Oi!  Take it easy, Blackbeard.  I’d like to save kissing the pavement for later in the evening if you don’t mind.”

      “You weren’t responding to vocal commands, John, so stiffer measures were called for.  Ready?”

It was only then that John realized where they’d been let off.

      “This is my pub.”

      “You don’t own a pub, Mister Watson.  And if you did, it would belong to me now, so your words are out of line.”

      “This is my pub, Sherlock.  I drink here and meet my mates here and… why the hell are they having a Halloween party?”

Depending on the day, John might stop in at a number of pubs around Baker Street, but this one was always his fall back.  It was the one he cooled off in when he and Sherlock had a row, where he took women for a quick pint before or after dinner, where he met up with Mike Stamford or other old friends.  Yeah, another place where showing up chained to another fellow wasn’t going to enhance his reputation as a ladies’ man, but John was finding it hard to care at this point.

      “Problem, John?”

      “I’m gonna go with nope.  Shall we?”

John graciously let Sherlock walk a pace ahead of him and didn’t make an attempt to hide the bindings that linked them.  In for a penny, in for a pound…

      “You know, I don’t remember any advertising for a party tonight.  No signs or whatnot.”

      “It must have been a last-minute decision.  Oh look, the bar.  Where we can get alcohol.  Come along, Mister Watson.”

Two sizable drinks in hand, Sherlock and John stood for a moment and surveyed the space, taking in the merriment and general debauchery.  The costumes ranged from obviously planned to impromptu, like the man who’d just stuck sticky notes all over himself and had a hand-written sign around his neck that said “bulletin board.”  This was precisely why John loved Halloween.

      “On my mark, Mister Watson, prepare to repel boarders.”

      “What?  Vampire-woman follow you here”

      “Worse.”

      “Sherlock!  Hi!  I didn’t know you’d be out… not that I had a reason to think you wouldn’t be or that there was anything wrong with not doing Halloween or…

      “Hello, Molly.”

 The rather curvaceous black cat that quivered next to them smiled the smile of those who’ve already had a few and are looking to stay the course.

      “You really look nice, Sherlock.  What a great costume!  I wondered about the beard but it looks smashing!  I’d agree to be kidnapped by you any day.”

Sherlock nearly snarled at the poor woman and dragged John to his side, keeping his long arm tight around John’s shoulder and chest.

      “I have my prisoner and I don’t want any other, thank you.”

John wriggled against Sherlock’s side but the detective wasn’t letting him move an inch.

      “Ok, Captain… I think she get’s it.  You’re a one-captive man.  Now will you let me get my arm up to my face so I can drink?”

Sherlock loosened his grip fractionally so John could at least take a sip of… well, it was alcoholic so who really cared.  Poor Molly wavered between her usual apologetic grimace and a growing mischievous smirk.  The smirk was winning.

      “I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.  You look nice, too, John.”

      “That’s Mister Watson.”

      “Oh, ok Sherlock”

      “CAPTAIN!”

      “Oh, yes.  Right… Ummm… Captain?  Can I get a photo?  Just a quick one of you and Jo…Mister Watson?”

      “Very well.  But be quick about it.  We have exploring to do.”

      “You do a good job of it, Sher…Captain.  And I really like the beard.  Yeah… its very nice and…oop!  Ok, camera’s ready.  Smile or… whatever…”

Molly snapped as many pictures as Sherlock would tolerate.  To his credit, he did affect a few poses, all of which used John as some form of prop.

      “Thanks, guys.  This is fun, isn’t it?  Running into folks you know and sharing some laughs.  We should do this…”

      “One moment, Molly.”

Sherlock spun John around and bent down to press his lips against John’s ear.  John’s shudder was quickly identified by his ego as a chill.

      “What the hell, Sherlock?”

      “I have to urinate.”

      “Congratulations.”

      “You see the problem.”

      “Don’t think I do.”

      “Molly.”

      “Molly won’t stop you taking a piss.  Might ask if you need help, though.”

      “Pay attention, John.  Molly is not a suitable caretaker for you.  She has no ability to discern a threat to your person, let alone ward off any attempts to spirit you away by my rivals.”

      “I’m not kidding, how much rum have you had?”

      “It is my duty as a pirate to (a)maintain possession of my property, (b) _keep_ said property well maintained and (c) make use of said property to better my own situation.  For example, the bartender did not want to pour us triples, but I told him that I was trying to ply you with liquor to make you more agreeable to my sexual advances and he changed his mind.”

      “God, you whored me out for booze.  And I’m going to report that bastard to the management.”

      “Oh don’t be a prude, John.  And he’s going to be fired tomorrow anyway.  One of the security cameras has been trained on the bar and follows his motions in particular.  The management has likely caught on to the fact that money is disappearing from the till and has narrowed the suspect pool.  Let them deal with the matter.  For now, we have someone useful behind the bar with access to the liquor.  I don’t see the problem.”

      “Of course not and, frankly, I’m not in the mood to explain.  So, well done you for adding to your crew of scallywags.  Really, well played, Captain.”

      “Thank you, Mister Watson.  But I still have to urinate.”

      “Good god, Sherlock, I’ve been through live fire…”

      “I have an idea.”

Sherlock took the lead of John’s chains and tied a respectable knot around one of the arms of a chair at the table next to them.  John ignored the indignant looks from the patrons sitting at the table in favor of focusing his own indignation on the happily-smiling figure with the big hat.

      “You’ve lost your mind.  Untie me!”

      “Absolutely not.  As is stands, you can’t accidentally wander into danger and if someone attempts an abduction, they will be slowed down by having to drag a chair across the floor.  Not optimal, but it will do for the moment.”

Sherlock’s appearance was not enhanced by John having to view it through a blood red haze.  The detective gave John a very awkward pat on the shoulder and turned to address Molly.

      “Mister Watson’s person should be secured, but I trust that I can at least count on you to scream if he is visited by danger.  Correct?”

      “What?  Yeah,  I mean yes, sir!  I’ll scream like his life depended on it.”

      “It might.  I will return shortly.”

And even his pirate coat swirled dramatically as he spun and stalked away through the crowd.

      “I am going to kill him.”

      “Wouldn’t that be mutiny?”

      “I’m not part of his crew, I’m a captive!  Christ, now I’m doing it.  Molly, if you would be so kind…”

      “I’m not untying you.  I don’t want to walk the plank.  Can’t swim.”

And she just had to snap a few extra pictures to show loyalty to her commander.

      “You know, you really should be thrilled, John.  I’ve never seen Sherlock, well, play with anyone.  He’s not good with people, you know?  But he’s good with you.  Well, as good as he can be, I guess.  He treats you a sight better than anyone else and… he just seems a lot happier now than he did before you met.  It’s not his fault he doesn’t completely understand how to behave around people.  He’s trying, though and that’s really, really new for him.”

All of that was true and none of it got John untied from the chair.  It did, however, make him a little less aggravated about things.

      “So, I should just let the berk use me like his personal action figure?”

Molly’s glued-on whiskers twitched when she smiled.

      “I could think of worse things.”

      “Molly, you know we’re not…”

      “What I know is that despite the rubbish he puts you through, you’ve never thought about just packing your bags and moving on.  I mean, I’m sure it’s exciting doing all that running around and chasing murderers and such, but it’s what happens in the in-between times that really tells the story.  I know what he can be like, John, and if you haven’t just picked up and left by now… there’s something else holding you in place besides just being friends.  Think about it, ok?”

John needed another drink or three before he’d want to take his brain down the path Molly was blazing.  It didn’t help that there had been times, here and there, too few almost to mention, where he’d already taken a few steps in that direction.

      “Yeah, ok.  I’ll think about it.  Now what are you doing on this side of the city?”

      “Well, I wasn’t going to come out at all, but Sherlock stopped by the morgue the other day and said that there were a couple of parties going on and I thought – why not!  I was at the Yard get-together earlier and then came here.  It’s been fun.  I’ve gotten chatted up, too.  Might have a phone number or two in my purse to show for it.”

Sherlock dropped by the morgue and just let it drop that there were parties going one.  And where they were happening.  John wasn’t prepared to say that the villainous corsair had actually done something nice for Molly, but his aggravation gave its last strangled gasp as it faded away.

      “Good for you!  Since my chances of cadging a few numbers is nil…”

      “Not that you want any.”

      “I said thinking, Molly, not deciding.  SINCE my chances of cadging a few numbers is nil, I’m glad one of us is doing the single side proud.  And I’m not surprised with that costume.  Nice choice – definitely catches the eye.”

When Molly Hooper blushed, her whole face turned red and, John suspected, so did a good part of her body below her face.

      “Thanks.  It _is_ a bit scandalous, but that’s what Halloween’s for!  Oh, look who’s back.”

Sherlock crowded against John and thrust yet another beverage into John’s bound hands.  Surprisingly, he also pressed one on Molly.

      “Thank you, Molly, for watching my prisoner.  You can leave now.”

      “Sherlock!”

      “It’s ok, _Mister_ Watson.  I’ve got to get out there and keep representing the single side, don’t I.  Wish me luck!”

Molly, tipped her drink in John’s direction and scurried away towards a skinny looking, red-headed man who seemed to perk up as soon as she was a few steps away from the seafaring duo.

      “That was nice of you, telling Molly about the parties.  It’s good to see her out having a nice time.”

      “It was purely self-serving.  The sooner she is attached, the sooner she will leave me in peace while I work.”

      “Not buying it.  Good try, though.  Captain Holmes has a heart of gold.”

      “What else would my heart be made of?  Remember, Mister Watson – pirate.”

__________

John knew he was going to end the evening ridiculously pissed, but that was fine.  More than fine, actually.  The night was wildly exceeding his expectations and made him hopeful that he could convince Sherlock into a repeat performance next year.  And, he had to admit, although he and Sherlock were attracting a great deal of attention, it wasn’t all negative.  In fact, the number of scowls John saw on some familiar faces were far outnumbered by the thumb’s up and pats on the back he was getting  from people he’d shared a pint with now and then.  At the very least, John didn’t think he’d have to worry about finding a new favorite pub.

While Sherlock was engaged in conversation with probably the only other classical music expert in the room, John used the length of his lead to reach the bar for a refill on Sherlock’s tab.

      “Hey, Watson!   Good to see you, mate!  Can you believe it – look at all the people.  Didn’t think the response would be this good for a stupid Halloween party.”

Andrew?  Michael?  Geoffrey?  Peter?  Peter!

      “Hey yourself, Pete.    Didn’t even know they were having a party.  Haven’t been around in awhile, but you’d think I’d have noticed a flyer or something.”

      “Well, it was a queer thing.  I was here one night and this tall bloke comes and demands to see the manager.  They go off to the office and next thing I know the place is planning a party.  Can’t say it was a bad idea, though.  I’m sure they’re making a right bit of cash off of this.  And it brought the women out, didn’t it?  The ladies do like a chance to dress up, hey?  Have you seen that little kitty cat?  If I was a few years younger…”

Tall bloke.  John was far enough in to the drunk range to be willing to take the leap of wild speculation.

      “What did he look like?  The one who got the management all worked up?”

      “Skinny fellow, but tall like I said.   Had himself a head of hair, too.  Not like some of us.  Sort of… yeah, sort of looked like your mate, but without the beard.”

John stopped believing in coincidences the day he moved in with Captain Morgan.

      “But, look here, Watson.  Your partner… he looks pretty… _intense_.  Maybe it’s not my business, but I had this girlfriend.  Well, she and I… it didn’t work out but… look, I have one of those, you know… ‘how to play safe in your home dungeon’ books hanging around the flat.  I’ll bring it around and leave it behind the bar for you.  Better safe than sorry, right?”

Keep calm and carry on.

      “Thanks, Pete.  He’s definitely got a fire inside, like you said.  Speaking of, better drag him away from Charles or they’ll wind up closing the place talking about Chopin.”

      “That’s for sure.  Cheers, mate.  See you later.”

__________

      “Sherlock.  _Sherlock_.”

Trying a hissed whisper when drunk results in quite a lot of spittle.

      “Try again, Mister Watson.”

      “This party… Pete just told me a tall bloke…”

      “Oh look!  Darts.  What do you say, Mister Watson.  Up to the challenge?”

John squinted the dart board into focus and the thread of his previous though unraveled.

      “You’re kidding, right.  You do remember I’m a trained shot.”

      “With a gun, perhaps, but how are your skills otherwise?”

      “I have mad skills.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “I have no idea.  I heard it on the telly.”

      “Well, do you accept?”

      “You’re going down, Captain.”

      “The telly again?”

      “Yes.”

After an argument about removing John’s restraints for the contest, which John lost in a hail of words that made his head swim and garnered them a small audience, the men stepped up to the line and John was first up to take aim.

      “You know, mon Capitaine, we should have a wager on this.”

      “You have nothing to wager.  You are a prisoner.  You have nothing and if you did…”

      “Yeah, yeah, yeah – it would belong to you now.  But, we should have something on the game.  It’s like a law.”

      “Like a law.  How judicious of you, Mister Watson.  Alright, what do you offer?”

Since he had nothing, John was coming up blank.  After a moment of silence, one of the spectators offered up his opinion.

      “When my lady friend and I bet, she always offers up a good snogging as her penalty if she loses.  She loses a lot, too.”

Well, since his victory was assured…

      “Sounds good.  I, Mister John Hamish Watson, wager one proper snogging on the outcome of this contest of aim and… steadiness.”

John had heard another phrase on the telly – deer in the headlights.  It was likely the most apt description of what Sherlock looked like at that moment.

      “Well, Captain Holmes?  Accept or refuse.  But, refusal means forfeit.”

      “I accept.  And, as my penalty, I wager the key to your chains.  Which you could have gotten at any time if you bothered to practice your pickpocketing skills.”

Ah, the sweet lure of freedom.

      “I gladly accept your terms, sir.  Now, stand back and watch a master at work.”

__________

John lost miserably.  How in the world was Sherlock able to hit the bulls-eye every bloody time!

      “Well, Mister Watson.  My prize?”

Stupid, smug bastard.

      “I would have supposed you’d want to wait for a little more privacy.”

Apparently, the crowd liked that idea as little as did Sherlock.

      “Our wager was a public one, Mister Watson and I expect to extract my winnings in public, as well.  Please commence.”

Stupid, smug, show-offy bastard.

      “Well, I _could_ … but I would feel a little strange, seeing as how I’m just a lowly prisoner.  I would expect that a pirate of your stature would be more likely to take his prize, rather than wait for it to be given.”

John wasn’t sure if he really saw Sherlock’s eyes darken or if it was his lubricated imagination, but it mattered little when in the next second Sherlock had wrapped his arms around John, bent him backwards and locked their lips in a very hard, very hot kiss.  Sherlock’s lips were both firmer and softer than John would have imagined, and they carried a fire that took John by surprise.  He would have thought the detective’s kisses would be cool and methodical, but there was nothing cool about the way the detective’s mouth covered his and the way Sherlock’s teeth were gently biting his lower lip.  John took an internal deep breath and peeked the tip of his tongue out and took a taste of skin that was sweet and boozy and spicy and perfectly Sherlock.

      “Nicely done, but save it for the bedroom, gentlemen.  Some of us are getting jealous.”

John had no idea who said that, but he was prepared to have their guts for garters when Sherlock broke their kiss and pulled John back upright.   Pretty much everyone in the bar was cat-calling and Molly was giggling and whispering in the ear of the red-haired man who now seemed to be welded to her hip.

      “Well done, Mister Watson.”

      “And you, Captain.  Although I’m not sure how this leaves my virtue.”

      “Will you never understand?  _Everything_ you have is mine.”

      “Well.  Ok.  Glad we sorted that out.  Another drink?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a great ride. This chapter is more hearts and flowers than giggles, but let's face it... we all knew where this was heading...
> 
> And, once again, I am very, very grateful for the all the kind comments and Kudos!

**Party Last**

John wasn’t sure how they got into the cab, but he was sure that the close confines of the vehicle was both welcome and distracting.  After his ignoble defeat in darts and kissing his flatmate

_kissing his flatmate_

John was content to be steered around the pub while Sherlock basked in his victory.  He gave a little wave to Molly as she left with the red-haired fellow she seemed to have actually sunk her claws into and shook his head at her “call me” pantomime.  In truth, he’d spend most of the remainder of the night in a bit of a daze.

_kissing his flatmate_

Yeah, it was just a lark for a stupid bet, but

_kissing, kissing, kissing_

it hadn’t felt like that.  It hadn’t felt like that, at all.  Fortunately, Sherlock was happy to simply continue on as if nothing had happened, chatting about his observations on the other patrons and keeping John’s drink fresh.  This gave John the time and liquid courage to let himself think, really think, about their evening.  He’d told Molly he’d think and she was nice.  He couldn’t break a promise to someone nice like Molly.  At least not when his blood was now mostly whisky.

      “I do believe the phrase is ‘closing the place,’ and we did a very good job of it.  I proclaim this endeavor a rousing success.  Agreed, Mister Watson?”

      “Agreed, Captain Holmes.  I have no doubt the stories of our exploits will outlive us and sail into the pages of legend.”

John chose not to analyze the little flip his stomach made when he caught Sherlock’s eyes and watched the detectives lips curl into a roguish grin.

      “Especially since the entire saga will we duly documented by my personal blogger.  I actually look forward to reading this entry, substandard grammar and stilted narrative style notwithstanding.”

      “You really want me to get tonight’s photos from Molly and photoshop that deerstalker onto your head, don’t you?”

      “My sincere apologies.  I had no idea your literary side was so sensitive.”

      “Never mess with someone who knows your weak spots.”

      “That is very true.  Fortunately, the number of individuals who know my weak spots is singularly small.”

That smile wasn’t roguish.  It was sweet.  Oh god… Sherlock was giving him a sweet smile and John was rapidly gaining an understanding of what it meant when someone said a smile made them melt.  Melt like a chocolate bar left out in the sunshine.

Pouring themselves out of the cab, Sherlock threw a variety of bills at the cabbie and announced to the street that Captain Holmes was back and everyone should guard their booty.  After five minutes of giggling, an attempt was made on the steps.  Then another.  Then several attempts at unlocking the door.  Then a serious conversation about sleeping in the entrance way because the steps up to 221B looked booby-trapped.   Then a game of toss the coin, to test if each step was mined.  Then a slow progression upwards, bodies pressed tightly against the wall in case there were angry natives waiting on the other side of their door with spears and bone knives at the ready.  After a quick, yet noisy clearing of the flat by the courageous Captain Holmes, with his captive in tow, their home was pronounced safe, though the furniture looked suspicious, so they sat on the floor in front of the couch.  Sherlock’s face scrunched up as if he was thinking very hard about something or needed a laxative.  With an ‘ah ha!’ he slid his hand under the couch and pulled out a bottle of what looked like rather expensive dark rum.  One long swig from the bottle and it was passed over for John to take a turn.

      “Wow, that’s good stuff.  I think your experiment is over before it’s started.”

      “Nonsense.  I purchased that bottle without due testing.  There could be FAR better brands of rum being produced.  It will take great dedication, time and number of samples to reach a definitive conclusion.”

      “You’re pissed.”

      “Takes one to know one.”

Giggle and hiccuping go together surprisingly well.

      “Seriously, though.  Really, seriously.  That last party.  That was you, wasn’t it?  You set that in motion, you great… oh, this is really good.  What was I saying?  Oh yeah… that was all you.  Don’t deny it.  I deducated it.  De…deduced it.”

Sherlock snuck a look at John with eyes that took a little of the wind out of John’s sails.

      “Would you be angry if I said yes?”

Oh no… there’d be none of that.

      “Angry?  No… not angry.  I had a super time.  A super, wonderful, Halloweeny  time.  I’m just surprised, that’s all.  Not really your style is it?  Going out of your way like that for when it’s not a case or something important like that.”

      “It _was_ important.”

Sherlock had his eyes fixed on the floor and John was sure it had to be a holiday ghost that pushed his manacled hand upward to grab Sherlock’s chin and lift his face so their eyes could meet.

      “Because I would like it?”

John watched Sherlock’s adam’s apple bob up and down as the detective swallowed hard before answering.

      “Yes.  I saw you looking at those pictures in the box in your room.  The ones on top were the ones you were looking at most recently and all of those were of you as a child in some form of costume.  You looked happy then and you looked happy reliving your memories.  Combined with your other behaviors, it was easy to conclude that this holiday meant something special to you.  It was the least I could do… for all the things you do for me.”

John didn’t let go of Sherlock’s face.  Instead he ran his thumb along the line of the Captain’s jaw and felt the slight tremor run through Sherlock’s skin from the contact.  It really was a nice beard and John ran his thumb back and forth a few more times to indulge in the sensation.

      “You arranged a great night… a spectacular night… just for me.  That’s… that’s amazing, Sherlock.  Amazing, brilliant… no one’s ever done anything like that for me.  Thank you.”

Maybe it was his imagination that let John think that Sherlock leaned into his touch at that moment, but he decided to let a finger run across the detective’s cheek because, imagination or not, it felt right to do so.

      “So, you brought me to one party with your brother and his crowd, one with the lads at the Yard who we work with and one with my mates and people I spend a lot of my alone time with.  One might say you were staking your claim, dear Captain.  Marking your territory, as it were.  Especially with these…”

John shook his arm so the sound of his chains rattled through the room.

      “One m…might also say I was testing the waters.”

      “To see if I’d go along with it?”

      “And to gather data to predict the fallout.”

      “You were worried what people would think of you?”

      “No, I was worried what people would think of you.  I couldn’t care less about people’s opinions about me, but you’re not like that, John.  If… if you were going to suffer any repercussions because… “

      “Because you fancy my sexy self?”

Sherlock might give Molly a run for her money in the blushing department.

      “And you locked me up in case what?  Someone caught my eye?”

      “Simplistic, but sufficiently accurate.”

Sherlock tipped his head back and away from John’s hand.  Another large swallow of rum went down his throat, but it didn’t ease the way for more information to flow out.  And John just stared.  Stared at his flatmate, who looked _different_ somehow than he did before.  More human, perhaps.  Certainly more vulnerable.  The swagger and bravado of his pirate persona was nowhere to be seen.  The swagger and bravado of his _normal_ persona was nowhere to be seen.

And he was beautiful.  Not handsome.  Beautiful.  This was what John had been waiting to see, even if he hadn’t known it.  Sherlock Holmes, the personality, wasn’t someone with whom John could ever be more than friends.  But Sherlock Holmes, the man…that was different.  Definitely ‘man,’ but that didn’t seem important anymore.  John slid himself closer to the quiet body next to him and lifted the bottle out of Sherlock’s hands, setting it aside after one final drink.

      “You great git.  You could have just talked to me about it.  Asked me what my feelings were…oh, wait.  More fun this way?”

A whisper of a smile, but still a smile.

      “Well spotted.  I… I’ve seen you sometimes, John…looking my way.  I readily acknowledge my strength does not lie in emotional areas, but I am quite proficient at reading faces and expressions.”

      “You’re saying my mouth said one thing and my eyes said another?”

      “Quite.  I calculated that the chance of you accepting my interest was marginally greater than of you standing firm on your sexual identity.  It was a risk, but not an unreasonable one.”

      “I’ll be honest with you, and myself I guess.  I’ve thought about it.  About us.  Maybe even about our first kiss.”

John decided to roll the dice and leave things up to the fates.

      “Too bad I didn’t get that tonight.”

Sherlock jerked like he’d been struck by lightning.

      “What do you mean?  I kissed you.  _We_ kissed.  I felt something that had to be a tongue.  And it wasn’t my tongue.”

      “Yeah, that was a kiss, but it didn’t count.”

      “Why not?  Are there rules or something about kissing?”

      “Lots, actually.  But, for first kisses?  They can’t be for a bet.  Or to please a crowd.  Or be for show in any way.”

John was glad he’d developed a resistance to the Holmes glare, because this was the most blistering one he’d ever received.

      “What _does_ count, then?”

      “Has to be for no other reason than to show the other person how much you care.  To make the other person feel what you feel.  Make your partner feel good.  All that counts.  Would you like a demonstration?”

Sherlock didn’t answer.  He just nodded slowly and held still as John leaned in and let his lips ghost across Sherlock’s perfect cupid bow of a mouth.  John took his time teasing and tasting, letting Sherlock slowly work his way into responding.  This was the way a first kiss should be.  Tentative and tender and all the other silly things they write about in the romance novels.  This time, Sherlock was the first to offer a little more depth and John eagerly accepted, easing his tongue between Sherlock’s lips and feeling the bottom drop out of his world.

__________

Long minutes later, John’s head lay resting against Sherlock’s shoulder, each man wearing a matching, satisfied grin and hair mussed in the way only someone else’s fingers can accomplish.  Somehow, their hands had become linked and neither had the urge to change that anytime soon.

      “What now, Mister Watson?”

      “Whatever we want, Captain.  Not like there’s a map for this sort of thing.”

      “I’ll get my cartographers working on it.”

      “That’ll mean a lot of voyages.  Add a little bit every time we sail.  Sounds good, actually.”

      “Will I get to wear my hat?”

      “Will I get to wear my chains?”

      “I think we have an accord, Mister Watson.”

      “I concur, Captain Holmes.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Hallowed Eve](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079799) by [bagofthumbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagofthumbs/pseuds/bagofthumbs)




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